The Weaver
by SoHo Chic
Summary: A retelling of the famous Arachne Greek myth. Arachne is portrayed as a sentimental girl whose only reason for living is to weave, in honor of her dead mother. Her greedy father is the reason for her downfall. R&R. My first on fanfic.
1. Mother

This is a retelling of the Arachne Greek myth. She's not as stuck up in my version; rather, she's quite sentimental. In fact, this story tends to border on the sappy side. The weaving scenes also tend to get really boring if you hate descriptions. I'm very descriptive, but I tried to restrain myself. This is my first story on FanFic.   
I wrote this story because:  
I am addicted to Greek Myths  
I hated how Arachne was always portrayed as a stupid, proud, stuck-up girl  
WHERE WAS THE MOTHER IN THE STORY?  
WHO DID SHE LEARN TO WEAVE FROM?  
If she weaved so well, isn't she supposed to be RICH??  
And I always did blame the Father  
  
If you don't know the Arachne story already, this might get boring.   
Last notes: M Word doesn't work right now, so I can't do italics. Anything in astericks are supposed to be in italics.  
Spell and grammar check also don't work. Live with it.  
And the last note of all--review.  
Enjoy!  
  
  
The Weaver  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One~Mother  
  
I learned the threads from my mother. Sweet, quiet Mother, who was fair skinned as death, taught me the loom, the wheel, the comfort of the fabrics. Mother was the plainest and quietest woman in Lydia, where we are famous for our purple dyes, but her weavings were wonderful. Before I could even walk, Mother began teaching me of threads. I was also plain and very shy. Like two peas in a pod, Mother and I were.  
  
First, of course, I learned to spin. Father brought in the dyed wool every evening, and the next day it was my duty to spin it. I kicked the wheel into action and was soothed by the whir whir whir that it made. Slowly, the wool turned into threads. At first, my threads were lumpy and thick. Mother laughed and stood from her loom.  
  
"No, Arachne, it is not so," she said softly, settling onto my stool. Her long white fingers handled the wool expertly. She spun the wheel and pinched the thread to make it thinner. I stood watching, trying to memorize all of her movements. Quickly Mother worked, and it was only a few moments that she had transformed a few handfuls of wool into thin, sturdy threads. Mother smiled and rose from the stool. Sitting in her place, I attempted to mimic her movements.  
  
My hands grabbed more wool and threaded it into the wheel. I pinched the thread as Mother had, and I worked the wheel as I had seen her do. My threads were still thicker than Mother's, but those few moments of instruction had brought me great improvement. Looking up, I saw her beam at me.  
  
Continuing to spin, Mother would weave at her loom. She was shorter than all the other village women, small and timid. Her fine blond hair was neatly placed into a simple knot at the base of her neck. Mother did not care for fanciness. Her fair-colored hands danced as they shifted threads to create vivid scenes. The two of us sat in loving silence.  
  
At midday, I would have finished with my spinning. Then, Father would come home for a light meal. Always, we ate with the quickest speed, so that we might hurry on with our duties. Father had only ever spoken a handful of courteous words to me. To Mother, he also said little. He swallowed all of his food and gave us both forced smiles. Then, he was gone to dye more wool. I barely knew any more of my father than his physical features. Father was stout and wide, with a balding head of dark brown hair. Dark hazel marked his eyes and creases of work crossed his round face. Of his voice, all I knew was that it was loud and deeper than Mother's.  
  
After the meal, Mother pulled me onto her lap and we fingered her progress with the loom. She held my hand and ran it over the soft fabric.  
  
"See, Arachne?" she whispered. "Think that you may do this one day?"  
  
Closing my eyes, I envisioned myself, sitting in Mother's place, my own white hands moving to the same dance her's always had. It was not hard to imagine, since I watched Mother every day.   
I offered Mother a warm smile and nodded. She wrapped me in her arms and kissed my forehead. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the scent of her--died wool, damp earth, and faint traces of olive oil. I knew the scent better than any in the world.  
  
"Arachne, one day I will let you try. For now, just watch and learn."  
  
I nodded and looked into her pale blue eyes, mirrors of my own.  
  
"I will, Mother. I will be the best weaver Greece has ever known!" I whispered fiercely. Mother frowned at me, and I bowed my head. "Well, one of the best mortal weavers," I added.  
Mother pushed aside a loose lock of hair.  
  
"Yes, Arachne. Never anger the gods," she warned.  
  
I traced the wood of her loom, smooth and strong, and I nodded. Mother hugged me again.  
  
"If you don't, I shall never see you weave. I want to see you weave, Arachne."  
  
"You will see me weave, Mother. I promise you," I answered, rising. "Now, we have work that must be done."  
  
The next winter, Mother died in childbirth, taking my baby brother with her to Tarturus. She never lived to see me weave.  
  
  
  
When she died, I was only seven. She had not yet taught me to weave. I cried for days as I struggled to carry out both her chores as well as mine. Father spoke with me for the first time.  
  
"Arachne, stop. I will miss her too, but there is work to be done. I will take a few of her chores--you must learn to weave. Weave as your mother did. Perhaps you can weave even better. You must try, Arachne," he commanded.  
  
I sobbed and refused to look at him. *You don't miss her like I do*, I thought. *You don't know her like I do. You don't care as much as I do.*  
  
Father placed a firm hand on my shoulder and shook me. Looking up at him through blurry eyes, I saw shame and impatience in his eyes. Springing to my feet, I bowed my head to him.  
  
"Yes, Father. I will learn to weave," I said, trying to keep the grief from my voice. Keeping my eyes on my tiny feet, I shuffled toward Mother's loom. Since she had died, I had refused to go near it. I refused even to touch wool. Now I walked to the loom. It looked the same as it always had--beautiful wood tinged red with small carved designs. I traced one of the designs, a sun among clouds. It was Mother's favorite carving in the loom, run even smoother because she always rubbed it. My eyes fell down to the spokes and the threads. Another tear dropped.  
  
"It was her dowry, when we married," Father said gruffly. "It is old, but it works. Take care of it. Use it well."  
  
I heard him leave, the door close behind him. No, I didn't want to weave. Weaving was what Mother did. I was just little Arachne. I did not weave.  
  
Then, I caught a whiff of the loom and my heart stopped. Closing my eyes, I could almost *feel* Mother next to me. The loom smelled like my mother--earthy and sweet. Slowly, I lowered myself onto the dirt ground. There. I could almost sense her now, beside me. Extending one arm, I felt the threads and rememberd words she had said to me, words I had said in return.   
  
*I want you to weave, Arachne*  
  
My eyes flew open in shock. Startled, I looked around. I could have sworn that Mother had spoken to me!  
  
There was nobody there. I waited to hear the voice again. All I heard were the birds outside. The phantom voice didn't speak to me again, but it roused emotions and memories from me. I heard myself speak, as I had half a year ago.   
  
*I will be the best weaver Greece has ever known!*  
  
"I will, Mother," I whispered aloud. "I will weave for you."  
  
A warm sensation filled me, and I nearly cried out. It was as if Mother was holding me in her arms yet again. I stood up as quickly as I could.  
  
"I swear it, Mother! I swear it!"  
  
Then, the warm feeling left me and instantly I longed for its return. Now I was truly alone in the world, save for a Father I did not know. All I had left of Mother was weaving. So I taught myself to weave. 


	2. Weaving

Anything in astericks is supposed to be italics.   
  
The Weaver  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Two~Weaving  
  
Learning to weave was not difficult, or at least not as difficult as I had expected. It came to me naturally, just as Mother had the natural gift for it. After I finished spinning, I sat at the loom. Closing my eyes for a few moments, I rested against the loom, breathing in the scent. Then, I sat back and took in deep breaths. After six years of watching my mother weave, I had nearly memorized her movements.  
  
Knowing what the movements looked like and actually doing them were two different matters. My first attempt at weaving turned into a ball of knots. Staring at it for the longest time, I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. I copied Mother's moves exactly! Father saw the mess and held in his breath. I waited for him to yell at me or encourage me, but Father said nothing, as usual.  
  
Soon, Father did nearly all of Mother's chores as well as mine, for I could not think of anything else but my weavings. Nothing else in the world would bring me any joy. Hardly venturing outdoors, my skin turned even paler until I was ivory-white.  
  
Still, even for me, weaving took me weeks to learn. I tested and tried new techniques on the loom, and I slowed my pace to discover what I had done wrong. Neighbors pitied me and offered their help. Some showed me a little of how to weave, others attempted to correct my mistakes. I could not understand what any of them were saying. Their weaving techniques did not make any sense to me. Finally, exasperated, I created my own style.  
  
Painstakingly slowly, I moved the thread over the loom. This way, I would not make any mistakes. For my first attempt, I tried a simple blanket. All in one color, there was no way I could fail. Finally, after an entire week of slow progress, I finished my first blanket.  
  
My father stared at it a long while and felt the fabric. It was completely smooth, but not quite soft, for I was still not very good at spinning. Again, Father said nothing. Simpling nodding, he turned and placed the folded blanket onto a shelf to sell at the next market day.  
  
After my first weaving, I turned my attention back to spinning. To have soft weavings, I would need perfect threads. For the next few weeks, I concentrated only on spinning. This time, I begged the neighbors for their help. Mother had only taught me the simplest things about spinning. I listened to everyone's advice and I worked feverishly at the spinning wheel. After nearly a month, my threads were as good as any of our neighbors.  
  
That night, I thanked the gods, especially the Goddess Athene.  
  
"Thank you for giving me the wisdom and talent to learn to weave so quickly," I whispered to the stars. I said the longest prayer of my life and sat staring long after I should have been asleep. Under the beautiful full moon, I felt truly blessed.  
  
  
  
Next, I tried colors. Closing my eyes, I let my hands move on their own. I tried not to think about what I was doing, but lost myself in the feeling. The threads felt wonderously soft under my fingers. I only opened my eyes to change colors. When I finally opened my eyes, I could not believe myself. There, in front of me, was a woven cloak, a cloak *I* had woven. The scene was just as I had imagined it inside my head--the nighttime sky, just like that perfect evening when I had thanked the gods. The sky was black and the darkest blue, with white stars that truly shone in comparison. I had woven the threads so tightly that there were no spaces between threads. Gazing upon my work, I almost fooled myself into believing that it *was* the sky.  
  
Father grinned when he saw the cloak, his teeth large and yellow like a horse. The next day, he came back from market with three gold coins...from my cloak alone. I smiled as I saw him sit happily near the fire, dreaming of what to buy with the money. He turned to look at me and grinned again.  
  
"From this day forward, you shall do nothing else but weave and spin! *I* shall carry on all of the chores!" he declared.  
  
I gasped and the words flew from my lips before I could think.  
  
"Then you won't be able to dye!" I protested. Quickly, I covered my mouth. A daughter is not supposed to speak unless asked! I bowed my head.  
  
He smiled with warmness, that never reached his eyes. At eight years old, I already saw the greed growing in him. All our lives we lived the poor, simple life of commoners. Father envied the rich; who didn't? I didn't. All I cared about now was weaving. Weaving was the only reason I had left to live, and then only for Mother's sake. Father wanted more than that, though.  
  
"You are our hope, Arachne! For your first cloak, you fetched us three gold pieces! Imagine what you can do with more time and experience! Weave our future, Arachne. Let us live like the rich and leave this rotting life!" he cried.  
  
I nodded timidly. If that would make Father happy, then fine. If we grew rich he would leave me alone to weave.  
  
After that first cloak, I had all the time in the world to weave. I wove like I had never woven before.   
  
Years passed quickly for me, but I never stopped weaving. My products always improved, to the point that I could weave cloaks so light you could not feel them about your shoulders, tapetries with pictures so realistic that butterflies flew through the windows to land on my flowers, or so customers told me.  
  
Father was happier than ever, for we had bought a new house on a hill not far away from Lydia, rich and luxurious. We had marble baths, huge bedrooms, and the dining hall was fit for a king. Our gardens had rare flowers from Africa and Italy. My bedroom window overlooked out garden. I sat at my velvet window seat, dressed in clothes I had woven myself, for none could do better. Maids twisted and braided my hair, adorning me with huge jewels. They would not let me go until they were finished. As soon as the last strand was set in place, I shooed them away. I needed to weave in silence.  
  
I drew inspirations from the world around me. My loom was next to the window so that I could look at nature and capture its beauty. The scenes of my weavings always held happiness and love, emotions that I had not felt since Mother died, feelings only weaving could give me.  
When I was fifteen, I had already weaved gowns for queens and tapestries for kings. Suitors from all over Greece asked for my hand in marriage. All had heard of my glorious weavings until the point that some compared me to the Goddess Athene. It was not until too late that I realized the danger. 


	3. Attracting Danger

Stuff in astericks are supposed to be italics.  
  
The Weaver  
  
  
  
Chapter Three~Attracting Danger  
  
I now had live audiences from Lydia and nearby villages. Father moved my loom down into the meadow every morning. It was the same one, for though Father had suggested buying a new one, I would not part with it.   
He also moved the spinning wheel to the meadow, next to my loom. The dyed wool was stacked neatly in the box beside my wheel. By mid-morning, a crowd would've gathered around me. Of course, Father had hired men protecting me and forcing the people to quiet, but they still distracted me. I could now spin so quickly that I was finished spinning before the hour was over. Then, I smiled for the crowd and began the real work.  
I closed my eyes, but I could still hear them. The children pushed to the front for a better view. Standing so close were they that I almost felt their small breaths. Whispers moved around me, passing from one person to the next.   
*Concentrate*, I told myself. Imagining a huge green forest, I focused on the picture and blocked out the scene around me. The trees were enormously tall, covered with deep green ivy and moss. Pine needles and red leaves lay against the plush emerald grass, soft on the travelers' feet. The horse rested, nibbling on blue berries from thorny black bushes while a young couple argued. The man was lithe and tall with light brown hair kissed by the sunlight filtering softly through the leaves above, lighting the entire scene. He wore traveler's clothes and held a split old staff which he pointed at the pottery-filled cart. The woman held her pink lips in a defiant expression as she shruggled with the broken wheel, stuck in mud. Her long, flowing garments dragged along the ground and troubled her work. She pushed aside a blue-gray sleeve and opened her mouth for another argument, hazel eyes flashing dangerously.  
Suddenly, my fingers reached the edge of the loom and my eyes flew open, painfully depositing me unceremoniously back into my real world. The tapestry was finished.  
From the rear of the crowd, there was a short burst of applause. They talked among themselves, no longer bothering to whisper. One woman stepped forward to look closer at my tapestry. Turning around, she glared at me, her beady black eyes surrounded by the wrinkles of age.  
"You think you're so great, don't you Arachne? 'Oh, Arachne is ONLY fifteen, yet she can weave almost as well as Athena!'" she mocked, her voice sickly high-pitched.  
"I never said I weave as well as Athena. No one does. No mortal can," I answered, my voice so soft and husky she leaned forward to hear.  
"What do you call this then?" she demanded, gesturing to the crowd. "You think so highly of yourself that you invite people to WATCH you!"  
I did not know what to say. A good daughter rarely speaks, and I had little experience with words. Nobody had accused me before, they had only praised me. Rightly so, I was unprepared for this new assault.  
The two hired men leaned forward and grabbed her by the arms. She struggled, but they clutched tighter and dragged her away. Still, she yelled at me.  
"Foolish, proud girl! You weave no better than I! Come, let us have a contest! I'll--"  
The taller man covered her mouth and silenced her. I thanked him with a relieved smile. Something small grabbed my skirt, and looking down, I saw a young girl grin up at me.  
"Don't listen to her. You're the best! My ma said so, and Ma is never wrong. You're just as good as Athena!" she declared fiercely.  
Weakly, I pried her fingers from my clothes and tried to smile. I wanted nothing more than to be alone. Loneliness would have been to me like water was to a thirsting man.  
"I will be...going to bathe now. Good-bye good people," said I in the loudest tone my feeble voice would allow. Grumbling and murmuring, the crowds dispersed, each man or woman going their own way, trickling off toward home.  
Not waiting, I turned and walked slowly up the hill to my room. I needed to speak with Father.  
  
"Arachne, you are BETTER than Athena! You are the BEST weaver Greece has ever known!" Father's voice boomed in the great dining hall. I pushed my food aside and twisted a handkerchief in my lap.  
"She is simply jealous," he continued. "Next time anyone dares to speak to you that way, you WILL say, 'I weave better than Athena.' Arachne, do you understand?"  
"Yes, I understand."  
"Arachne, take PRIDE in your work. We have no need for modesty now! We live like aristocrats! We ARE aristocrats! Brag all you need to, daughter. Spread the word, let no one humble you now. As aristocrats, we have no need for the gods! Rich enough are we that we can live without their blessing!"  
Simply to prove his point, father walked to the end of the hall and knocked over the sacrificial altar. I stood up quickly and gasped. Mother's voice resonated in my mind.  
*Never anger the gods.*  
"No, Father!" I cried, scurrying forward. "You mustn't! We cannot risk the gods' wrath!"  
"I SAID, we have no need for gods! No longer shall they be worshipped in this household! What have they brought us? Nothing," he spat. "Never again shall I sacrifice my best cattle for the worthless creatures!"  
I looked up to him and saw how cold and lifeless his eyes were. Strange that I had never noticed it before, but I had never looked into his eyes.  
"Mother said to never anger the gods. At least keep peace in her memory!" I begged. The tears flowed freely as fear clutched my heart. Athene had graced me with a talent for weaving...if angered, Athene could take it away, withdrawing her blessing.  
Father grabbed my wrist and pulled my face close to his. He reeked of deer and roasted beef. His eyes flashed dangerously.  
"Your Mother was a stupid woman whose weavings were only fair. She was a pawn, an easy piece to play. YOU, Arachne, are the real prize. You are MY prize. Do not humble yourself and lower your worth! Next time another dares question your skill YOU WILL SAY??"  
He paused, waiting for my answer. I tried to turn my face away, for his breath was burning hot on my skin. Father grabbed hold of my chin and forced me to look at him.  
"I will say that I weave better than Athene," I answered, my voice trembling.  
"SWEAR IT!" he screamed in my face.  
Now my mind was very muddled, and I was thoroughly confused. I didn't understand how it mattered if I said this or not. How would it "increase my worth?" Why did Father care about my "worth?" What WAS my "worth?" Still, Father was furious with me, and I feared him. Bottom lip trembling, I mumbled what he wished to hear.  
"I swear I will, Father."  
"Good," he said, releasing his grip. Quickly, I backed away from him.  
"Tomorrow, I shall see. I will be there. I will see," warned Father.  
I curtsied quickly and raced out of the hall.  
  
There he was the next day, in the middle of the crowds. I could see him at once, for he wore regal clothing, velvet and animal furs. All the time I had spun, he had not yet said a word.I forced myself to ignore him and moved myself to my loom.  
This time, when I closed my eyes, I saw the clouds. Beautiful clouds they were, fluffy and white, the edges painted with the colors of sunrise. The sky was pale blue, beautifully tinted with pink and gold. There! A flock of geese returning north! The head goose flapped its wings laboriously, its honks loud and breaking the peacefullness. A dozen honks answered it from the rear. One straggling goose at the edge dipped and swooped in the wind. Oh, the glorious wind! Gentle, playful was the wind, whistling through the soft clouds. My fingers danced further up the loom. Now I saw a great bright light. Could it be the sun? No, 'twas not the sun but a golden palace admist a golden kingdom! Ah, it rested gracefully on a particularly large cloud, wholly peach-colored save for whiteness around the edges. Bright rays shone from this glorious kingdom, angels flew around it. One angel, a small baby, slept on a floating cloud. Above the kingdom floated the image of a huge feminine figure. She looked to be made of clouds, her skin was so pale. Toes nearly touching the tallest tower, she hovered by two gorgeous wings, white with soft pastel colors. Her robes were white as well; they hung loosely about her and billowed around her, floating as if they were in water. Golden hair underneath a crown floated like her robes. Looking closer, one could see that her eyes were large and pale amber, her face full of character. It was she, not the kingdom, that shone light upon the world.  
I felt the wood at the top of my loom. The blanket was beautiful. Opening my eyes, I caught sight of one woman in the crowd. She was an old woman, crouching over a walking stick, her grimy clothes clung tightly to her frail body.  
"I hear that you say you are better than Athena," she croaked, waving the splintered staff in the air. Glancing at Father, I saw him nod. Slowly, I turned back to the woman.  
"Where did you hear that?" I whispered quickly. She cackled.  
"Oh, everyone knows it! All else think so: the young Arachne weaves better than Athena! Well, my dear, I am old. I am old enough to know that we mortals should fear the gods."  
An unwilling smile tugged at the corners of my lips. What was this woman trying to say?  
"My mother said so as well," I answered.  
"Child, you must apologize! Tonight! Sacrifice your father's best cattle so that you may save yourself!" she yelled, kicking at the grass.  
"Arachne," Father said warningly, his strong hand on my shoulder. I did not need to turn around to know of the look in his eyes.  
"Move back to your cottage," the woman continued, beginning to wheeze. "Save yourself from your own pride, for none can weave better than Athene."  
My mouth refused to open. Kicking my feet, I would not face her. Only a tight squeeze from Father forced my mouth to open, gasping in pain.  
"I...I am the better," I panted. "You said it yourself: all know that I weave better than Athene. I do. You saw it with your own eyes. Could Athene have woven this?" I asked, gesturing to the blanket.   
*There* I thought. I said it. Now Father would leave me be. Twisting my neck, I looked up to see him nod in approval.  
The old woman shook her head and righted herself to her full height, which slowly began to grow. Her threadbare clothing melted away to reveal silks. The staff in her hand lengthened, smooth, and turned into a silver spear. Lank gray hair transformed into long, luscious tawny locks; wrinkled skin smoothed to a pale perfection.  
I stared up into her beautiful face, strikingly intelligent and analytical. Lovely gray eyes gazed at me underneath wide brows, and I knew the presence in which I stood. Here was she: Athene, goddess of wisdom, warfare, and the arts.  
I flung myself at her feet. 


	4. Competition

No astericks in this one...I think. Hold on....only 1 more chapter left after this!!! I started to forget my vow not to get too formal, though, so bear with me when I start getting to high tech and boring again.  
  
  
The Weaver  
  
Chapter Four~Competition  
  
Ever when a mortal has claimed to be better than one of the gods, they were fiercely punished. The gods hear such words easily, and being very jealous, they act quickly. As I lay at her feet, I tried to imagine what my punishment could possibly be. Horrible stories and images formed in my mind. Fear caused my skin to crawl, for my limbs to tremble.  
Athene kneeled down and helped me to rise from the ground. My legs were shaking so much that I had to sit down immediately. She laughed softly.  
"Arachne, your pride shall be the end of you. Why? Why must you be so proud?" Athene asked.  
"I didn't. I'm not," I sobbed, perhaps so softly that she did not hear. If she had heard, she made no indication. She continued.  
"You claim that you weave better than I. I who created the loom! I who first taught mankind tactics, weaving, spinning, sculpting! Do you think so still?"  
Pausing for my answer, she stood still. For the first time, I noticed that she wore a gold breastplate, Medusa's head emblazoned in the center. There on her shins were, of course, gold battalion shin guards. How could I have seen her crested helmet earlier? She looked fiercely warlike and dangerous. Shivering, I did not answer her.  
"Very well. You boast that you are the better. We shall see!" she cried, flinging the words at the crowd.  
"In one month, beside this very hill, we shall have a competition. You and I shall weave, and the crowd shall be the judge."  
I cried harder. Even then I knew I was doomed. Never had I thought I could weave as well as Athene. I *had* been humble, respective of the gods! It was not fair that I should pay for Father's arrogance!  
"IF you win, your life shall be spared, but if not..."   
She paused for effect, holding the attention of everyone. Looking up, I met her eyes. Though to everyone in the crowd, it seemed that she was sparing my life. She was giving me a chance to prove myself and save my soul. I knew, though, that I was doomed past saving.   
"If I do not," I whispered for her, "I shall have to pay the penalties."  
She nodded her approval and stared for a few moments at my blanket, fingering it. What could she have thought of it? Did she think well of my meager attempt, or did she scorn it inwardly, laughing at me?  
"So, Arachne, do you accept?" Athene asked at last. "Do you accept my challenge of the title that is so rightly mine?"  
"Yes, she accepts," Father answered for me. "She will be here, in a month, to compete."  
I turned around abruptly, staring at Father in complete shock. How could he do this to me? Sell my life away? How could he be so uncaring and arrogant, cocky even?  
Quickly, I turned back to Athene to protest. *No!* I wanted to scream. *Please forgive me, I know my place now!*  
I never said my apologies; I was never forgiven, for when I turned again to beg, the goddess Pallas Athene was gone.  
  
One month, I was given. All I had left was one, last desperate hope that clutched at my spirit, keeping me from taking my life. In one month I could improve. One month was ample enough time to practice, perhaps even to excel to Athene's capabilities. Or so my Father claimed. They all claimed so. In the end, they convinced me, sowing the seeds of hope deep within my heart. So I wove.  
Day and night, sitting beside my window, by moonlight or sunlight, rain or shine, I wove. Perhaps in the entire month, I had only a few days of sleep. My slender fingers were worn red and raw, bleeding over the thread to the point that Father dragged the loom away and forced me to rest. Then I spun. My fingers were wrapped in linen bandages, but I still fumbled with my wheel. I hardly ate or drank anything, for my time was slowly dwindling away. Finally, Father refused to let me spin or weave until I rested. For an entire week, I slept, ate, and drank my fill. Inside my closed eyelids, I invented spinning and weaving techniques: I imagined the competition with Athene, and I dreamed up scenes for my weavings. After the week passed, Father reluctantly returned my wheel and loom. Immediately I returned to my prior business. Again I wove day and night, but now with more difficulty, for my hands were softer, and it pained me to weave. My already small body grew thinner and frailer from lack of nourishment. My skin and lips grew dry and cracked; my eyes turned red and bloodshot. This time, when Father attempted to remove my weaving utensils, I pulled my knife out of my drawer and threatened to stab myself. The anxiety drove me insane. My weavings filled with scenes of pain and terror as I contemplated punishments that Athene might sentence me to. One tapestry depicted Tantalus, who had committed a sin. He stood, chin-deep in a wonderfully clear, refreshing stream of water with his burning thirst, but every time he bend to take a sip, the water disappeared so that he could never drink. *This punishment was not so bad* I told myself. Here I had already spent nearly a month with no water. Then, a vision of Prometheus, who was chained to a mountain with an always tearing out his belly and eating his liver again and again for all of eternity.   
Finally, the day of the contest arrived. Father ordered me to be bathed in milk and anointed with the sweetest oils. My clothes were of purple silks, the color of royalty. Diamonds and sapphires filled my hair so that I could not lift up my head, weak as I was. Father relented and ordered half of them to be pinned to my sandals instead, which were painted gold. Of course, I'd demanded that the loom I used would be Mother's, and Father grudgingly allowed it, though he'd wanted me to use a new gold one. No longer did I sit in a stool, however--it was a high chaired carved of ivory. By the time I'd arrived, people from all of Greece were crowded into the meadow and on the hills nearby. There were the dyed threads, neatly placed as usual next to the wheel. I'd assumed that Athene had wished me to spin as well as weave. As I sat, I looked up toward another hill, taller than ours, overlooking my meadow. Atop the peak, with no people crowded around her, stood Athene in all her glory. Behind her the gorgeous rose-fingered dawn touched her features, so that she appeared more beautiful than ever before, making her armour shine. All of the crowd knelt before her and murmured praise. I was not sure what to do, as I didn't think Father would be happy if I soiled my clothes, so I sat still and did not move. Athene looked directly at me and raised her spear to the heavens.  
"We are here to day to have a competition!" Athene's voice resonated. "A challenge between I and the mortal girl Arachne. We shall both weave and you good people shall judge who is the better. Because she was the challenger, Arachne shall weave first!"  
I'd listened to her words carefully and sighed. So all I had to do was weave; I didn't need to spin. Still, the wool was set and waiting for me, so I grabbed it and began to work.  
My hands played over the flax of the spinning wheel. As I worked, I began to forget the crowd that pressed against me so that I had barely any space to work. With my fingers, I rolled the wool and tapped on it, causing it to billow out and curl in again. I'd shake out the balls of wool and then roll them up once more. Everything worked in a delicate pattern. Drawing out the wool, I created long shining threads using pokes at the spindle. My thumb darted in and tapped the spindle quickly. Threads formed beneath my skilled fingers and a small smile spread across my face, for they were the best threads I had ever spun, abundant, soft, strong, and smooth. Now my work moved to the loom. This was the scene I had contemplated about for so long. I had planned it to perfection. Yet, at that moment, as I glanced up at Athene and the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen, I felt that the scene simply was not right. Taking a breath of crisp morning air, renewed inspiration filled me and I worked even quicker and more efficient than before.  
This time, I kept my eyes open. I had not opened my eyes to weave since I was a small girl, but I felt I had to. The new technique that I had planned the night before was inside my head. I needed to see myself work, to finally be able to see my own glory. This was an experiment, for I had never tried this method of weaving before. Yet, I knew deep inside that it was ingenious, perfect even. From the loom, the visions of my inspiration sprung. A small young girl, tugging at her mother's skirt was seen in one corner, in the other a young boy sat by the sea with is grandfather. Slowly, the pictures of their life were visible. The young girl learned from her mother and worked in the kitchens. She began to stop playing in the beautiful fields and meadows and cooked indoors. The boy started collecting seashells and then began to fish. Proudly, he displayed a large catch. Now he fished on his father's boat and they laughed as they hauled in the sea. Again, the girl grew older. Ah, she was becoming a beautiful maiden! Gentlemen courted her, knocking on her door and wooing her with flowers. Then, the boy was now a gentleman also, and he sailed over to her land. What a stroke of luck was it that the two happened to meet! They talked secretly, the seeds of romance blossoming. Often they met underneath an old tree to talk and whisper plans of marriage. Now the wedding came! A glorious wedding it was too, with rare lilies in her bouquet and dignitaries from all over the Mediterranean attending! The groom had the finest cloak and beamed at his lovely bride, her black hair framing an exotic tanned face. They feasted together and laughed together. Now they had the rest of their lives. Their livelines had mingled now and became one. I was halfway through. All happy scenes, filled with love, life, and truth. Then, from the middle of the tapestry was their married life. Children! Little ones, adorable and smiling at the world. Their lives now mingled with their parent's lifelines. Ah, they grew older as the parents watched proudly, lovingly. They learned just as their parents had, the daughter learning to cook and the sons learning to fish. Then, terrible war. Horrible scenes filled the tapetry, but the image of the three sons filled a vast area of the tapestry. Their faces were grim, hopeless, yet determined. From them ran blood, thick and red. In the background I wove black death. Still, the family forged onward. Now the daughters' lives branched outward, away from the old couple. Their lifelines and pictures were smaller now, as they married and had children of their own. One daughter died in childbirth. Another drowned in a shipwreck with her husband. Only the youngest child in the family survived, living a full life with happy family, her lifeline eventually dwindling off the tapestry, off to her own story. Now, all that was left was the old couple. At the end of the tapestry, they sat together, happy and sad, ready for death yet grateful for life and each other, beneath the old gnarled tree where they had met.  
I stopped now, and gazed in wonder. Clearly, it was the best I had ever done, or could ever hope to do. The pictures were so vivid, so clear! Looking on, one could see their joys, feel their sorrows, and understand the seas of life. Still, was it enough?  
Athene nodded to me. For a quick, fleeting moment, I saw the expression on her face. She was impressed with my work and showed it openly. Then, her face changed and her eyes hardened, turning cold. She had more to lose than I. I only had my small, mortal life, while she could lose face in the eyes of Greeks. Athene could lose all her worshippers forever if it were proven that a mortal could do better than she; her name would be said with mocking and scorn until the end of mankind. Briefly, I felt a tinge of empathy for her, understanding and knowing how she must have felt. Then, I remembered that my life was in the balance, and I forced my heart to harden.  
Athene smiled coolly at the crowds and then turned away, toward the bright sun. Now it was her turn. 


	5. Forever

Ah! The conclusion! Yeah, more high-tec vocab. Live with it. Please R&R. I wanna know how I did on my first story!! (no astericks on this one either!)  
  
Chapter Five~ Forever  
  
The sun was so bright that we could only see the outline of her body. With her right arm, she reached up and touched the clouds, beautifully dyed with the colors of the sun and morning. Expertly, she twirled them around between her fingers, creating threads softer than any existing--threads made of clouds. Her left arm grasped a collection of storm clouds far in the distance, colored somber grays, blacks, blues, and violets. Fluffy white clouds were dipped into the sea, flower gardens, meadows, and forests so that Athene had before her cloud-threads of every color on earth and in the heavens and some colors that mortals had never seen before, the vivid dyes of Olympus.  
Athene needed no loom. The sky was her loom. Clouds were stretched across to form the largest space possible. Not even needing a bobbin, she threaded the dyed clouds through the sky with her able fingers. With quick, fluid motions, the images appeared, thrown across the sky.   
They were not even woven images, not really. Looking up, I saw the pictures of the immortals and knew that they were exact models, so realistic that they WERE the gods. While mine was a life-filled tapestry, hers showed horror and fury. Then I realized that she had meant not only to punish me, but to teach a lesson to all of mankind. In the corner, Zues killed his father Cronus. Heracles killed Titans, deep red blood filling the sky. Artemis laughed as a young man was torn apart by his own hunting hounds.   
The vast crowd before Athene fell to their knees, cowering in fear, not daring to look upon the hideous images any longer, but their eyes still held a steady gaze. More Gods appeared, punishing mortals, killing each other, starting bitter wars. The majority of the weaving was covered in the bright red of blood, turning violet from the vast amounts trickling down from the sky. Suddenly, my back felt damp. Staring straight up, liquid fell into my eyes. Immediately, I recoiled and wiped my eyes on a silk sleeve. Pulling back, I saw blood dripping from the sky, falling from Athene's weaving. The sky was bleeding! Well, the pictures were coming to life. Women started shrieking as the blood poured down.  
I, for one, did not scream. Standing rock still, I kept watching Athene weave, captivated by her smooth movements. She had moved on. Now the images were softer ones, quieter flashes of the past. Here was Athene, teaching one man how to use a plow. Her image came again, floating above a battle scene, directing the Athenians to victory through strategy. Another one, Athene leaning over to bless a baby, her glowing golden fingers touching the child's forhead. Now a huge image of a loom. Slowly, Athene had created the first loom. Descending to earth, she had given it to the women of a small village.  
How could I have done it? Looking on at her weavings, something tugged at my mind. Unseen hands plucked my heartstring, whispered inside my head. No. I did not need to see any more. Athene was not yet finished, but I didn't need to see anymore. How could I compete with her? She had CREATED weaving, the loom, the spindle, the bobbin, the wheel!  
There was only one way for me to end this, for me to lose with the most of the little dignity I had left. Quietly, I stood and moved through the crowd. It was easy, for everybody was looking intently at Athene and did not notice as I passed by. Quickly I picked my way through the crowds. On the other side of the meadow, the forest looked dark and cold. When I eased between two trees, I heaved a sigh of relief. Here. On my skin I felt the green of the plants, cool and smooth. No sunlight passed through the thick leaves. It was all too perfect. The forest was gloomy and cold, just like my mood. The atmosphere was dark, like my life had been. No sound, not a single animal, was heard, reflecting my loneliness. For a few, sweet moments, I truly enjoyed life. Taking deep breaths, I closed my eyes and was lost in the moment. When I opened them again, I felt a short pang about what I was about to do.  
"Stop that," I scolded myself under my breath. "Your life is over now. You lost!"  
Tying my handkerchief into a knot around a long hanging bush, I whispered a prayer to Athene. Then, glancing around at my surroundings once final time, I slipped the loop around my neck and kicked away the rock that I stood on.  
The branch bent because of my weight, but the knot held sure. The soft fabric was now a sharp as knives, biting into my neck. Almost I reached upward and saved myself, but then with a burst of will, I clasped my hands behind my back.  
My lungs screamed for air. My heart roared in my ears. Slowly, the trees before me flickered, then grew blurry. I didn't fight when my vision dimmed drastically. Now everything blended together, all of my senses combining into one. My neck no longer hurt, for I was numb. The fire in my lungs were subdued. Finally, everything before turned black, and I knew no more.  
  
*  
  
Feverishly, my black hands worked.   
*Spin!* My mind cried, and my body easily obeyed. Sticky thread flowed from my abdomen as I settled it into a circular figure, a beautiful new loom hanging between two leaves. My eight arms clutched and spread and pressed it, working at my....web??  
Suddenly, something swooped me away from my work. I didn't struggle, but sat still atop the huge peach-colored thing. With my dim four eyes, I looked upward and saw a face. A....human face?  
"Ah, Arachne!"   
The vibrations shook my small body, racking through me. What was this strange new wind?  
"I gave you everything. My blessing! I made you the best weaver Greece has ever known!"  
What were these strange new sounds? Slowly, my mind scrambled to understand, to make sense of this shrieking. Somehow, the sounds were familiar....where had I hear them before?  
"Why, Arachne? Why let your pride swallow you? Oh, it poisoned you, engulfing you in arrogance. All the things you could have done, all the possibilities, gone!"  
Now I grasped some of the sounds. One in particular...'Arachne'. What did it mean? Why did it make my body quiver?  
"You loved to weave. I saw that. I could have made you so much more. I had a glorious future intended for you, Arachne! Why did you toss it away?"  
Weave! That sound I knew! It meant....it meant....it meant the web! Two of my arms danced in the air. Ah, I loved to spin my webs!  
More vibrations. A harsh sound in the air. It was.....laughter?  
Now a few more memories inside my small mind.   
"All the while, your pride! It lasted until the end. You could not bear it, could you? To lose to me? So you killed yourself."  
I felt a small trapdoor in the back of my mind start to creak open as memories started reamerging.  
"But I understand. To lose to me was to lose your weaving."  
Another...laugh. That voice was...Athene's!  
"As the patron goddess of weavers, I have decided to soften the sentence. Because you, Arachne, love to weave more than anything else in the world, I have decided to bestow a special gift upon you."  
Now I remembered everything. Memories flooding through me, memories of life as Arachne. I shook one of my hairy black arms. A GIFT??  
Athene lowered her hand and placed me gently back onto my web.  
"I hereby erase your memories of you painful human life. Now you are a... what should I call it? You are a Spider now. You will weave for the rest of your life. Until the end of time, you and your offspring shall weave. What do you think of your sentence?"  
The door closed sharply, then disappeared altogether, taking along my memories.  
What were these strange sounds that I had never heard before? They were meaningless to me, and I dismissed them easily, returning to my webwork.  
"Weave, Arachne. It is your gift."  
Then, I felt a huge rippling in the air, and then the huge being looming above me disappeared.  
I danced along the sticky threads, finishing my web. It is a dance I will dance until the end of time. Every day, sitting on my loom, working away silently, spinning and weaving.  
Forever.  
And I am happy.  
  
-------------  
  
So, that's it. Now go read my other stories.  
If the part where she gets her memory back seems familliar? I got that idea from The MoorChild. I liked the idea of a door holding back her memories, so I worked it in. It was my fave part of that book. 


End file.
